


with hands over eyes to block out the world

by tickatocka



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Past Felix/Locus, M/M, Mentions of Junior, Mild Gore, Season/Series 12, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 06:06:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1808146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tickatocka/pseuds/tickatocka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>50 felix/tucker ficlets. set during season 12.</p>
            </blockquote>





	with hands over eyes to block out the world

**Author's Note:**

> **a/n:** original "50 sentences" prompts based off [[alpha chart]](http://1sentenceorder.livejournal.com/1531.html) with some noted exceptions. pairing suggested by [kaikainagrif](http://kaikainagrif.tumblr.com/), and beta'd by [aerie](http://agentnorth.tumblr.com/) and [kristi](http://atinykerfuffle.tumblr.com/). nearly all of these are more ficlets than sentences (accidents happen), and most occur independently and non-chronologically. cross-posted to [tvckingtons](http://tvckingtons.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.
> 
>  **warnings:** violence, descriptions of wounds/scars, brief depiction of torture (#23), mild sexual acts.

* * *

 

**1\. COMFORT**

It's the little things: A hand on the arm, a kiss on the wrist, and the knowledge that the punk with the sniper rifle high and away on the cliffside actually wants Tucker back in one piece.

—

**2\. KISS**

His teeth are red with grit and blood and he's got more than a few fractured ribs but Tucker kisses him anyway, bruising and rough between fleeting bouts of angry Sangheili. It takes Smith, Caboose and three medics to get them apart, and even then, Tucker stays within reach, muscles coiled and teeth bared.

—

**3\. SOFT**

Everything about Felix is hard edges at first, black and white, all ambition and bravado and assurance. And none of that's a lie, but there's more to it, Tucker knows; he's seen flickers of it, muted and dim in the back of Felix's eyes, small details that surface in his words and gestures. He's flash and bang up front — his armor's highlighted  _orange_ , for fuck's sake — but he's something else, too, if anyone bothered to look closely enough.

—

**4\. PAIN**

The first time Tucker's hand finds Felix's throat in bed, the mercenary's eyes go wide and wild and his breath hitches, enough that Tucker nearly lets him go; but then his lips drop open, a noise comes from the back of his throat, and Felix's voice is low and desperate when he says, " _Tighter_."

—

**5. ~~POTATOES~~ [WILDCARD]**

It comes in at dawn, an opportunity for exchange on the radio: Locus wants Felix, and he'll give back Washington and the others if he can have him.

"Kimball's three hours east," Grif tells Tucker, face grave. "It's your call."

In the end, Tucker tells Locus to go fuck himself. When he gets back to his tent, Felix is already there, sitting cross-legged on the desk, expression oddly penitent.

"Locus just sent me the same deal," Felix says without meeting Tucker's eyes, at the same moment that Tucker becomes keenly aware of the knife the merc's twisting in his hands. "He told me he'd make a trade, you and Grif and Simmons and Caboose, for a ship and ammo and alien tech and cash. He told me he'd even let Kimball keep the others, if I only gave you up."

Tucker shifts, uneasy. "That's a good deal."

Felix nods, lips pursed into a narrow line. "It _is_ ," he says, getting down from his perch. He sheathes his knife and finally looks at Tucker, eyes pleading and face stricken. "But I said no."

—

**6\. RAIN**

They take shelter in the caves when the rain comes, pouring down and stripping leaves off trees, littering rock formations with pock marks. The world turns to absolute silence.

"It's beautiful," Tucker says, sleepy with the lull of raindrops.

"It's fucking _acid rain_ ," Felix snorts. "It's deadly."

"It can be both." Tucker's voice softens. "Sometimes things are."

—

**7\. CHOCOLATE**

MRE's have nothing chocolate in them, but Felix has Tucker's neck to sink his teeth into instead, and that feeds his sweet tooth well enough.

—

**8\. HAPPINESS**

Chorus changes things for Tucker, redefines them. Happiness used to be contentment, talking, lazy days at blue base. Now, it's the feeling high in his chest when the medics tell him the knife missed the mercenary's heart by two inches and even though he's down and out cold with a collapsed lung, Felix will make it.

—

**9. ~~TELEPHONE~~ RADIO**

"Tango, this is Foxtrot, over."

"Go ahead, Foxtrot."

"Still looks all-clear from here, and this new scope we grabbed is aces. I'm really likin' the range on it. Makes your ass look great."

" _Felix_ —"

"Codenames, Tango! Codenames!"

—

**10\. EARS**

The blood coming slowly down Felix's neck makes Tucker's lungs seize when he first rounds the corner; but then he takes in the needle the merc's holding, and the new piercing through his left earlobe, and his chest loosens. "Sixteen," Felix tells him pleasantly, turning his head to show off the jewelry better, and wipes the trickle of red away with his palm.

—

**11\. NAME**

" _Lavernius_?" Felix repeats, incredulous, and the laughter that follows is so open and clear that Tucker can't find it in himself to be annoyed.

—

**12\. SENSUAL**

Tucker's different from Felix's usual work-related fucks; Felix learns that fast. Most people just want to get their rocks off, no elaborations or embellishments; the captain prefers deliberate rhythm and steady, firm touches. He prefers it slow; not plodding or boring by any means, but unhurried and thorough. Sometimes all they have time for is something quick and functional, but the speed of the day makes Tucker crave something else on their off-hours, and Felix, to his own surprise, doesn't mind it.

When he fucks one of the Comm girls while Tucker's on an op, the sex is missing something. She rushes, and then she leaves, nothing but efficiency. The end result is the same, and Felix would normally applaud the woman's professionalism, but it's different. There's no slow burn, no teasing, no excitement. It's only business — and that's what Felix _used_ to like.

When Tucker returns from the op the next night, Felix seeks him out, stealing into his tent at midnight. He's attentive, obliging, slow, and he doesn't let Tucker sleep 'til daybreak.

—

**13\. DEATH**

Tucker takes shelter in Felix's tent when Caboose's crying grates him too far, and that's where the merc finds him, sitting on the edge of the bunk, hunched over with his face in his hands. Felix kneels in front of him and takes his hands, leans his forehead against the captain's. He doesn't offer platitudes; he knows they won't help. He only sits with Tucker, breathes with Tucker, and watches over him when Tucker's ready to sleep. He can't carry the weight of someone else's loss, but he _can_ protect those still living — so Felix keeps vigil instead, fierce and stony and silent, because that's all he has to give.

—

**14\. SEX**

It starts the same way most things start: Roughly and without warning, need over logic, body over mind. It takes the edge off the war they're fighting.

"It's just sex," Felix tells Kimball when she pulls him aside, because of _course_ she doesn't miss a thing. "It doesn't change anything. Doesn't change the job."

Tucker says something similar to Grif the next day, when he slinks up to Tucker and asks for details. "It's nothing," Tucker says. "It's just fucking."

Grif only smiles. "And isn't that how it _always_ starts."

—

**15\. TOUCH**

Felix regards Tucker coolly from where he's stretched out on his back, naked and tranquil with his arms behind his head. They've been here a while, Felix laying still while Tucker kneels over him. "Sixteen," he says when Tucker runs a hand over some tattooed lines of writing below Felix's collarbone. "Korean proverb. Got it done on Leda. Paid for it with ammo."

Tucker's hands travel; fingers catch on the barbell through Felix's left nipple. "Seventeen," he says, arching up off the bed and into the touch. "Did it myself in the kitchen of one of my dead marks. Stayed in the place a few days after I killed him. Drank his beer and found a new home for his cat in the meantime."

A knife wound, next, thin and shallow but jagged: "Nine. Some older kids held me down while another one did it. I went back a year later, found each of the little cunts, and gave them matching scars. The one who held the knife struggled and lost an eye; I was sloppy back then."

But then Tucker's fingers ghost over the delicate muscle on the inside of his hipbone, trace over a small, foreign symbol in all-black ink, and Felix twists away. He pushes at Tucker's hand and exhales heavily. "Twenty," he says anyway, hollow. "Twentieth birthday, actually. A matching tattoo with a friend, on Daphne II." A pause; "Well, not a friend. A partner."

Tucker understands, and understands the silence that follows as well; they never talk about Locus. He runs a thumb over the tattoo again and bends to kiss Felix's forehead before he shifts his hands once more, smoothing a palm over the soft inside of Felix's left thigh. "And this?" he asks, pressing his fingers against the wide line of raised scar tissue that leads to the knee.

Felix closes his eyes: "Same partner. Six months after the tattoo. One of my own knives. Almost bled out on the spot." He swallows, opens his eyes. "I was so stupid."

Tucker only nods, cradles Felix's face in his hands and kisses him again. They don't talk about scars after that.

—

**16\. WEAKNESS**

Everyone has their price, he's always known that, but he learns his own the moment he sees Tucker, helmet off, kneeling on the ground with the barrel of Locus' gun aimed at his skull. Locus says he wants to make a deal. Felix only nods.

—

**17\. TEARS**

Felix doesn't speak to Tucker a full week after Tucker's wounded on an op, won't look at him or acknowledge him at all. When Tucker finally corners him, the merc punches him hard enough to rattle Tucker's broken ribs and nearly reopens his stitches; but then he shoves Tucker into the nearest empty tent and the fury collapses. Tucker holds him together, every shaking piece of him, and whispers apologies until there are no sobs left.

—

**18\. SPEED**

" _Tucker_ ," Felix snaps, harsh and low and breathless, teeth bared but all threat taken out of the word by the subsequent way his head falls back against the sheets, and the weak keen of need that comes past parted lips.

"Easy, easy," Tucker tells him, half doting and half smug. He's settled at the juncture of Felix's legs, one of the merc's thighs bowed out while the other leg rests hooked over Tucker's shoulder, leaving him open and exposed while Tucker works fingers into him.

" _Faster_ , you fucking—" Another sound, somewhere between a snarl and a moan, and then: "I'm going to _kill_ _you_."

Tucker turns his head to kiss the muscle of Felix's calf. "Say please."

" _Fuck off._ "

"Not quite the same thing," Tucker laughs, and slows down even more.

—

**19\. WIND**

"You missed," Felix tells him lazily from where he's laying prone beside Tucker. They both have sniper rifles propped in front of them, although Tucker's the only one shooting; Felix is mostly just using his to oversee Tucker's practice.

"There was a sudden breeze," Tucker growls, setting up for another shot. "And this thing is hard to use."

"Yeah, yeah," Felix laughs, before he perfectly snipes another domino off the far cliff. "It's not UNSC-regulation gear, I heard you the first time."

"Show-off."

"Hey, look on the bright side: you're at least better at sex than shooting that thing." Felix glances at him, grin plastered across his face. "Then again, that's not saying a lot."

—

**20\. FREEDOM**

"Fuck whoever you want," Tucker spits out the morning he spots someone else leaving Felix's tent.

Felix laughs to his face. "I _will._ "

It's not 'til he sees a medic emerge guiltily from Tucker's bunk later in the week that Felix decides to reevaluate — for the sake of efficiency, of course.

—

**21\. LIFE**

It's not until after Chorus that Felix learns what Tucker's Sangheili nickname for him really means. "It's like  _My Love_ or  _My Darling_ ," a woman from the embassy explains to him across two lowballs of whiskey. "Except, it's stronger that than, more meaningful. It's possessive, but it denotes being possessed, too, something singular and rare that you can't live without. It's — Well, the best translation is probably simply,  _My Life_."

—

**22\. JEALOUSY**

The first time Palomo makes a pass at Tucker in front of Felix, the mercenary does nothing, as he later tells Kimball. He has absolutely _no_ connection to Palomo's 'incident' in the bunks the next day, nor does he have any idea where Bitters came across the $100 wad of rolled-up cash that he now keeps in his sock drawer. It's probably all just coincidence, he tells Kimball. Accidents _do_ happen.

—

**23\. HAND**

"One more chance," Locus tells Tucker, though he can barely hear the words through the ringing in his ears. "You join me, this stops."

Tucker feels the point of the metal screw lining up under the edge of his fingernail again, his ring finger this time, and he lets out a harsh breath. He can feel the pain of it already, knows exactly how it'll feel from how the first two hurt.

"I need an answer, Lavernius."

Tucker opens his good eye and feels the sticky pull of his other eyelid from where it's swollen shut. He looks at Locus, staring into the eyeless visor, and sneers with bloodied lips. "Fuck you," he tells him.

Locus makes a disapproving sound and picks up the hammer again. The screw drives in, thick and hard under his fingernail, and Tucker almost doesn't hear himself screaming through the white agony down his spine. His head lolls back when Locus twists the metal and pulls it out again. He feels the cold shock wash down his skin, and the unconsciousness that follows is soft and welcoming; this time, he lets it take him.

He comes to with hands on his face, gently touching his bad eye. He jerks his head back, accidentally slamming it against the wood of the chair; a relieved-sounding voice says his name from nearby. Dextrous fingers undo his wrist restraints and lift the heavy box of ammo from the back of his palm, freeing his hand.

"Don't," Tucker manages, when the same hands try to touch his fingers. He opens his uninjured eye and sees Felix kneeling in front of him. "Those hurt."

Felix nods and tries to smile, weak and regretful, before he bends to kiss Tucker's knuckles instead.

"I'm glad you came," Tucker says.

Something in Felix's features breaks: "I'm glad you waited."

—

**24\. TASTE**

The delicate skin of Felix's neck tastes like salt and metal and the rubberized padding of his helmet — but Tucker doesn't mind the bitter tang under his lips and teeth, not when Felix comes apart in his hands, and not when he sees the bruises the next morning, little mouth-shaped pledges of ownership for the rest of the camp to see.

—

**25\. DEVOTION**

"You're the only one, you know?" Felix says without prelude or explanation, quiet and honest in the pitch dark tent. Tucker runs his fingers through the merc's orange-streaked hair and hums agreement, and smiles even though Felix can't see it.

—

**26\. FOREVER**

In a business like his, there's no 'forever' for Felix — but Tucker is 'for now,' and maybe, if 'for now' lasts a while, that'll be enough.

—

**27\. BLOOD**

Felix doesn't even know what he said — a harmless enough joke, something about  _your ugly mug_  and  _unfortunate gene pool_  and  _wow, your kid must be one monster-lookin' freak_  — but it's been a rough day already and Tucker flat-out decks him with little enough warning that Felix doesn't have time to block. He ends up on his back with Tucker knelt over him, and the punches the captain's throwing are sloppy with anger and exhaustion but he  _means_  them, and they're gonna bruise tomorrow. Felix is fast, though, fast enough and sharp enough that when Tucker leaves an opening, Felix takes it and slams an elbow into Tucker's head. In the momentary pause that follows, he jabs his other fist into Tucker's solar plexus, and the way Tucker wheels back gives Felix enough space to pull his legs up and kick both of them straight into Tucker's chest. Tucker hits the ground hard and Felix doesn't lose a second in scrambling over him, yanking a band of alien tech out of his boot before snapping it around Tucker's wrists, leaving his arms crossed and pinned to his chest. Felix presses his hands on Tucker's shoulders when Tucker tries to head-butt him a moment later, and it's another full minute before Tucker realizes he's immobilized and stops trying to fight.

"I'm not letting you go until you stop trying to punch me," Felix tells him, ignoring the other worried soldiers approaching them. "I'll leave you like this 'til supper, you  _know_  I will."

Tucker puffs out a forceful breath through his nostrils and looks away. "Fuck you," he coughs out.

Felix leans in, far enough to keep the others from hearing. "I mean, that's an option for you later, but only if you stop bein' a fucking  _dick_."

He almost feels bad when Tucker glares at him again, maybe thinks he pushed  _too_  hard, because while there's fury in that look, there's grief in it, too, which becomes all the more apparent when a tear streaks down from the corner of Tucker's eye. He turns away from Felix to hide it and sets his jaw, the epitome of stubbornness. " _Never_  talk about my kid like that again."

"Deal." Felix takes his hands off Tucker's shoulders. "We good?"

"We're good."

—

**28\. SICKNESS**

The merc's delirious with fever when he says the words, not just about love or lust but something infinitely more, about trust and worry and need. Tucker kisses his forehead and sits with him until Felix dozes off; and later, after Felix recovers, both pretend they don't remember.

—

**29\. MELODY**

Tucker sings Sangheili lullabies when Caboose can't sleep, the harsh edges of the language softened and soothing in the songs' drawn-out notes. One lullaby gets stuck in Felix's head and he hums it while he cleans his weapons, although he doesn't understand the far-away look Tucker gets when he overhears.

—

**30\. STAR**

Felix snaps awake when there's a shuffling sound from outside Tucker's tent. He stills, muscles tensing as the tent flap pulls up, but Tucker sits up beside him and presses a reassuring hand against Felix's shoulder. Felix recognizes the lumbering intruder a few seconds later, and relaxes.

"Hey, Caboose," Tucker says drowsily. "What's up?"

"Smith and I are stargazing," Caboose tells them, far too chipper for god-knows-what-time in the morning. "He says there might be a meat-eater shower. Do you want to come?"

Felix can hear the smile in Tucker's voice when he says, "No thanks, buddy, but you guys have fun."

"Okay. Goodnight, Tucker!" He turns to leave again, and just as Felix wonders if Caboose saw him, Caboose adds, "Goodnight, Felix!"

"'Night," Tucker replies, and nudges Felix.

"G'night," Felix laughs, the sound muffled into his pillow. As soon as Caboose is gone, he twists to look at Tucker. "Your friends are weird."

"Tell me about it."

—

**31\. HOME**

Chorus was always a stopping point and never a final destination, but every leader needs a right-hand man, and every spaceship needs a crew.

—

**32\. CONFUSION**

"Um," Washington says on his fourth morning back in camp, where he stands in the half-open flap of Tucker's tent with his hands on his hips and a look of regret on his face.

Felix stares back at him, eyes sharp and narrowed despite his less-than-intimidating fluff of bed-head. He's got his hand around a knife beneath his pillow, but doesn't want to draw it just yet; the movement might wake Tucker, the idiot, who's somehow still asleep.

" _So_ ," Washington says, a little helplessly. "This is happening."

—

**33\. FEAR**

Tucker wakes when the bed jostles, the sleeping body next to him suddenly alert and shifting. There's a weight on top of him in fractions of seconds; before Tucker even gets his eyes open, the edge of a knife presses cool and sharp against his throat and a palm covers his mouth. He doesn't move an inch, just blinks, until he can make out Felix's shape in the dark. The whites of the mercenary's eyes are visible, wide and afraid, and his shoulders heave with labored breathing; the shine of sweat on his chest and collarbones catch what little light there is. He looks entirely feral.

" _Shit_ ," Felix says roughly, and takes his hand off Tucker's mouth. He doesn't move from where he's crouched over Tucker's waist, and the knife doesn't move either. His eyes dart over Tucker's face, as if he doesn't quite believe what's in front of him. " _Shit_ ," he repeats.

Tucker, moving his head as little as possible, raises both eyebrows and asks, "Nightmare?"

Felix nods. As unsteady and spooked as he looks, his hand is static where it holds the knife. "Sorry," he says, and Tucker knows it's not an apology for lunging at him — it's an apology because Felix still has the blade against his throat, and isn't going to move it anytime soon.

"I get it," Tucker says, and he means it. Nightmares, flashbacks, PTSD, whatever names people put to it — it gets to all of them. A few nights after they were separated from Wash, he heard a warthog engine start a little too loudly, a little too close, and it set him off. He felt the ground shaking, felt the cave collapsing, felt like he was losing the others all over again. He might've hurt someone if Caboose hadn't grabbed him and jabbered assurances at him until he got through it. Even then, for the first few minutes, he didn't recognize Caboose at all. Whoever's face Felix is seeing now, Tucker doesn't blame him for wanting to be sure; and if Felix hasn't hurt him yet, then he's not going to.

"Sorry," Felix says, softer.

"Take your time." Tucker closes his eyes, and relaxes. "Whenever you're ready."

—

**34\. LIGHTNING/THUNDER**

Sometimes Chorus' nightly storms keep Tucker awake, tense, vigilant, but sometimes he's grateful for the flash and clang, when he's got a lithe body pinned below him and the thunder helps to swallow the moans that pillows alone can't dull.

—

**35\. BONDS**

"You got a wife?"

Tucker startles from his almost-sleep, lost for a moment before he remembers Felix is in his tent again. It's been nearly a month since this thing started but tonight's only the second time Felix has slept over. It's oh-dark-thirty, judging from the dead sound of silence outside the tent, and Tucker's mostly just surprised Felix didn't sneak out while Tucker was sleeping.

"Hmm?" Tucker props himself up on his elbows. His voice is thick with sleep. "What'd you ask?"

The merc is sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to Tucker, shoulders tense and eyes on the floor. "I said, you got a wife?"

That garners a laugh. "Definitely not."

"But you got a kid," Felix says, glancing over his shoulder.

"Yeah," Tucker says, not about to go into the details this early in the morning. Everyone in the camp seems to know he's a dad, but how the pregnancy came about, who gave birth, and what Junior looks like isn't exactly common knowledge. "But it's not like that."

"Oh." A long pause. "You got a husband?"

Tucker's laugh is even more incredulous. " _No_."

Again: "Oh." Felix doesn't move; he stares at his hands. "But, you and Agent Washington—?"

" _Dude_ —  _God_ no." Tucker sits up and reaches for Felix's arm. "What is this about?"

Felix shakes his head. It's another long few seconds before he shifts and looks at Tucker, and then he shrugs. "I don't fuck with couples. Not unless someone's paying me for it."

Tucker raises both eyebrows, which is apparently the wrong reaction.

"Be surprised all you want," Felix says roughly, standing. "There's just some shit you don't mess with."

"Hey." Tucker reaches after him, barely catches his wrist. " _Hey_ —"

Felix twists, but doesn't try to shake him off. "I might be a freelance asshole, but even _I've_ got limits, okay?"

" _Okay_." Tucker only looks at him for a moment, and then gently pulls on his wrist, cautious, like Felix might spook if he moves too fast. But Felix lets him do it, lets Tucker pull him closer. "You're not, like, secretly married either, are you?"

Felix blinks, and then laughs, and just like that the mood breaks. "Nah," he says, smiling as he pushes Tucker flat on the bed and follows him down. "Fuck that shit."

—

**36\. MARKET**

The laws of supply and demand stop making sense after they share a bed seven nights in a row and, on the eighth night, Tucker still wants him there just as much.

—

**37\. TECHNOLOGY**

Felix inhales sharply, enthralled. "Do it again."

Tucker rolls his eyes and picks up the gun for the fourth time. The alien tech starts to hum as soon as he touches it, powering up and glowing blue. After a minute, he hands it to Felix, and the weapon shuts down again.

Felix looks from Tucker to the gun, and then back to Tucker. " _God_ ," he says, practically a moan. "That's _hot_."

—

**38\. GIFT**

Felix reminds Tucker of a cat he used to have as a kid, except instead of bringing dead mice and headless birds to his doorstep, Felix brings in half-loaded guns and knives with crusted blood on their edges. He almost prefers the cat's presents; cats don't tell stories about their kills.

—

**39\. SMILE**

Felix knows this isn't going to last, but sometimes when Tucker gives him the sweet, genuine, lit-up grin that's so rare these days, Felix can pretend that he's got something other than cash and weapons to look forward to at the end of this war.

—

**40\. INNOCENCE**

The first time Felix allows himself to fall asleep in front of Tucker, the blue understands why it took this long to reach such a seemingly-minor milestone. The merc is quiet, still, face void of sarcasm or anger, soft and loose in unconsciousness in a way that his freelance work can't afford. Despite the knife under his pillow, he's vulnerable here. Tucker doesn't sleep a wink that night, taut and anxious instead.

—

**41\. COMPLETION**

They're silent the morning after Locus dies, both awake but neither in motion. It's early; neither could sleep.

"He's really dead," Felix says, and Tucker nods.

He saw the body himself, limp and small and fragile without the helmet. He saw the medics declare time of death, and then saw Washington bury an extra mag into Locus' skull, just in case. Even so, none of them seemed to believe it.

"He really is."

It's a victory, but it doesn't feel like one.

—

**42\. CLOUDS**

The sky is dark with storm clouds at midnight, flashing with the bands of heat lightning that are so common on Chorus. Felix is perched on the hood of a warthog, serenely watching the show, when Tucker finds him.

"Surgical staples," Felix says offhandedly before Tucker can speak. He pulls up the edge of his shirt to show off his newly-acquired knife wound, an organized mess of staples and gauze and tape on the lower left side of his abdomen. He doesn't look away from the clouds for a second. "No sex for a while. Doctor's orders. No fighting, either."

"Are you okay?"

"Me? Peachy." Felix leans back all the way, arms tucked behind his head. He means the pose to seem leisurely, but Tucker knows him better than that. There's nervous tension coiling in his muscles, and the downward twinge of his lips is all but a neon sign of discomfort.

"You're not taking any painkillers," Tucker guesses.

Felix laughs, harsh and raw. "I'm not about to use supplies that I don't need, waste the army's pills just like I'm wasting their time. I'm already a freelance mercenary who can't fight. I'm not gonna be a freeloader, too."

"Felix—"

"What? It's true." He sits up, quickly enough that he can't hide the pain when it punches through his expression this time. He clenches his teeth and keeps talking, spitting out the words as he climbs down off the vehicle. "If I can't _fight_ , what am I good for? And I can't _fuck_ you, either, I already told you. So why are you here? What do you _want_?"

Tucker purses his lips and rounds the hood of the warthog, walking right up to Felix. The merc looks for a moment like he might punch Tucker, but he seems to reconsider when Tucker takes Felix's chin in his hand and kisses him on the mouth, tender but decisive. Felix softens, his muscles go slack, and when Tucker lets him go, the venom's all gone.

"Tucker, I told you, we can't—"

"You're a fucking idiot if you think that's all I want," Tucker tells him, and kisses him again.

—

**43\. SKY**

"War doesn't scare me anymore," Tucker says to Felix when the ships Kimball promised hover above their camp, ready for tomorrow's flight off-planet. No one can sleep, still waiting for something to go wrong, but at least the others are in their tents, pretending.

Felix makes a small, curious sound, and looks up at the ships. "What _does_?"

"I don't know." He sighs. "Whatever comes _after_."

—

**44\. HEAVEN**

Tucker knows it must be the morphine, but Felix's hands feel like summer on his face, and his voice sounds like symphonies, and he barely even feels the holes through his side now. He smiles at the mercenary and his tongue is too heavy to speak, but he wants to ask what's wrong, why he's upset, especially when things are so wonderful, so warm, so sleepy, so dark—

—

**45\. HELL**

—so _fucking_ _bright_ , and _god_ Tucker's head is killing him. He shuts his eyes again and tries to roll over to block out the light but his entire side screams out as agony lances through his abdomen. He clenches his teeth — which makes his head hurt _more_ , somehow — and groans, and when he tries to touch his side he feels a biting pull in the skin of his arm. He hears beeping first, tinny and close, and a pair of voices trying to soothe him. A third voice — Grif's, he recognizes, that's Grif talking — tells someone to get a medic, and then there are footsteps and finally, quietly—

"Tucker?"

He opens his eyes again, squinting, and tries to respond with words; his tongue feels heavy, though, and the sounds come out as a questioning groan instead.

The infirmary manifests around him once his eyes clear. Caboose stands on one side of his bed and Simmons is on the other, both smiling with relief. Even Grif, farther back behind Simmons, has a dumb grin on his face, and Tucker all at once remembers what happened. Three bullets, two of them straight through. There had been a lot of blood.

"Welcome back!" Caboose chirps.

"Thanks." His throat feels raw; the word comes out strangled. He tries to lift himself upright but Simmons pushes his shoulder gently back down again, and even with that little movement, pain spears through him. " _Fuck_."

"Yeah," Grif says. "Doin' stuff? Not such a good idea."

An amused snort comes from his immediate left, and Tucker realizes that Felix is here, too, perched in the corner just out of his periphery. The merc is folded up on the desk with his legs crossed and back slumped against the wall, still in his under-armor suit, with helmet-tamped hair and more dark shadows around his eyes than usual.

"You look like shit," Tucker tells him.

Felix smiles, genuine but worn. "Says the guy who lost a liter of blood."

A cut on Tucker's lip stings when he smiles back.

The medic arrives then and Grif announces that he's starving, excusing himself to the mess hall. Simmons follows, and then — after assuring Tucker he'll be right back — Caboose goes too.

Felix, however, doesn't move.

"You should go," Tucker says, ignoring the medic as the guy takes his pulse. "You look like you haven't moved in ages."

"He hasn't," the medic says, and moves his hands to check Tucker's stomach wounds. "Captain Caboose keeps bringing him food."

Tucker looks at Felix, who in turn shoots the medic a dark glower. "Fucking tattletale."

"He also hasn't slept," the medic goes on, conspiratorially. Then, in a stage whisper, "I'm not even sure he's gone to the bathroom."

"Look, doc, I'm _armed_ ," Felix snarls, and sinks down farther against the wall when Tucker laughs. He doesn't move again until the medic's gone, having given Tucker a positive appraisal; but once the man's out the door he slinks down off the desk, stretching like a cat, and pulls up a chair beside the bed.

"Hey," Tucker says, grinning.

Felix crosses his arms over the edge of the mattress and drops his head into them with a sigh. "Hey," he echoes, muffled.

Tucker runs his free hand through Felix's hair, giving a slight tug to the orange streak. "You were worried."

Felix groans and buries his face farther into his arms. "Just shut up," he says, but Tucker can tell he's smiling. "I'm trying to get some sleep."

—

**46\. SUN**

The river just outside the caves supplies the camp with water and, as Tucker discovered early on, is the optimal temperature for washing away the smell and heat of the armor after a long day. But great minds think alike: a few days after his discovery he sees Felix there, too, alone and naked and waist-deep in the riverbed, the light of the sunset splaying across his wet skin. He's long-limbed and slender without all the armor to add bulk but the lines of his muscles stand out regardless, emphasized by the movement of the water down the contours of his frame. He stretches languidly, catlike, shoulder-blades shifting and muscles tensing, and before he has the chance to turn around, Tucker tears himself away.

(Felix, of course, knows Tucker was there. He wouldn't say he _orchestrated_ the encounter, per se — but things often have a way of working out in his favor.)

—

**47\. MOON**

"On my planet, there's a myth that the moon and sun are lovers," Felix says, chin propped up on one arm, tracing his other hand over Tucker's bare chest. "The moon angered the sun and she ran away, but now he chases her all around the world. The moon wanes because he forgets to eat, too consumed with the pursuit of his love. He's so focused on her that he forgets himself."

"That's romantic," Tucker says evenly.

But Felix gives a derisive snort and pushes off the bed. "It's idiotic," he says, yanking on his clothes. He doesn't look at Tucker. "It's _pathetic_."

—

**48\. WAVES**

It's not like Tucker expected Felix to come with them after the war, but after everything, it still stings when Felix's new ship leaves in the night without so much as a farewell. Two weeks later, on UNSC shore leave at a beach on Parthenon, Tucker glimpses an orange streak and a familiar tattoo out of his peripheral, splashing out of the surf towards him. It's not until the mercenary presses him into the sand and kisses him hard with lips like sun and sea salt that Tucker allows himself to believe it's real.

—

**49\. HAIR**

The weight of the merc straddling Tucker's hips is an added incentive to stay perfectly still, even when he sees something dark in Felix's eyes as he pulls out a knife from thin air. "Don't move," Felix breathes, close enough that Tucker can feel it on his soap-lathered skin. Tucker swallows but obeys, head tilted back, eyes shutting when he feels that first scrape of the blade across his throat. Later, after the soap and stubble is gone, he can't help but run a hand over the clean-shaven skin. He still feels the drag of the knife, and the weight pressed against him, and the elevated but steady purring thrum beating out from Felix's skin.

—

**50\. SUPERNOVA**

Tucker waits until they're at least back in the tent after Kimball's strategy meeting before he yells at Felix, his entire body shaking with anger. "This is fucking suicide!" he shouts as soon as they're inside the tent, spinning on Felix with his arms spread wide. "This entire fucking plan is—"

"It's gonna work," Felix says evenly. He's perfectly still, emotion boarded up behind a mask of professionalism. "You _know_ it's gonna work."

"That doesn't matter!"

"This is  _war_ , Tucker, and we have a chance to end it — for _good_." Felix shifts farther into the tent, closer to Tucker. "That's _all_ that matters."

Tucker clenches his fists and turns away, even though there's nowhere to storm off to. "I can't fucking believe you," he says. He can feel his fingers twitching, and his knees feel unsteady. He's lightheaded. "I can't _fucking_ _believe_ you—"

"Kimball already approved it," Felix says. "We'll be doing prep for the rest of today, get a good night's sleep tonight, and then it's go-time." He's silent for a moment. "She won't change her mind, Tucker."

"She's letting you take a bullet for her planet," Tucker snaps, refusing to look at Felix. "You don't even _live_ here, and she's letting you kill yourself for her."

"We have the troops," Felix goes on, with a sigh. "We have you and the others; we have Agent Washington; we have Agent Carolina and Epsilon on the other end; Locus is dead; _and_ we know exactly where to hit the Feds to win this thing. It's a _good plan_. It'll work."

"I know it'll fucking work!" Tucker shakes his head and turns to face Felix again. "And even if Kimball changes her mind, you'd still go for it, wouldn't you?"

Felix smiles, small and contrite. "You know me."

"This isn't _your_ war—"

"I'm the most qualified for the job, and this is what I'm paid to do."

Tucker scrubs a hand over his face, letting out a raw laugh of disbelief. "God, the _one_ time I _want_ you to be a mercenary asshole, and you just won't do it." He sinks down to sit on the edge of the bed, the world still spinning around him. "You'll be the _only_ one in any kind of real danger."

"This strategy minimizes the potential casualties," Felix agrees, parroting what he told Kimball earlier. "If I die—"

"And you _will_ ," Tucker adds.

"—then it's _one_ of our lives as a trade for all of Chorus' freedom. Kimball and the rest will go home to their cities. You and the others will all get safe transport off-world." Felix smiles again, too gentle for his usual temperament. "It's the right choice."

"It's the right choice," Tucker repeats, and Felix isn't sure if it's agreement or derision. Tucker looks up at him, lost. "You do bad things for money all the time. Why do you give two shits about being a good person?"

Felix moves closer and kneels down between Tucker's legs, slow and reverent in a way that makes Tucker's chest ache. It feels like communion, like last rites.

"If I don't go," Felix says quietly, "someone else will go. And Kimball and I _both_ know she'd send you — so she asked if I'd like to do the hard part, instead."

Tucker blinks. "She wouldn't send me—"

"You're smart, and fast, and powerful, and your sword might actually make you more qualified than I am." Felix touches Tucker's face, drawing his thumb over Tucker's cheekbone. "Agent Washington isn't anywhere near ready for intense combat, and Kimball can't leave her post to run a suicide mission. It'd have to be you."

"So you admit it's a suicide mission," Tucker murmurs. He lets his shoulders drop, and then leans forward to press his forehead against Felix's. "If I'm qualified, then let me do it."

"No can do."

Tucker lifts his head minutely. "Felix—"

"Look, I never thought I'd be the altruistic, sacrificial type either," Felix laughs, his smile genuine now, "but hey, times change. Everyone knows people in my line of business don't grow old; we burn too hot and run out of gas, and then — _boom_ — we're done. I've never met a merc older than 35, and, yeah, so maybe I thought I'd have another ten good years or so in me, but it's not every day you get to save a fuckin' _planet_." He cradles Tucker's face with both hands now, looking him in the eye. "Tucker, I'm fine with this. I _want_ this."

"I won't let you do it."

Felix nods, sympathetic. "And I can't let you stop me."

Tucker exhales and jerks his face out of Felix's touch, trying to blink away frustrated tears. Felix lets him go, but doesn't move from where he's kneeling.

"I can't believe you," Tucker says again as soon as his voice cooperates. His hands find the sides of Felix's neck, his fingertips brushing over skin. He pulls down the edge of Felix's shirt to look at the tattoo below his collarbone, the small black lines of Korean script. He never even bothered to ask what it meant. He thinks about asking now, wonders if they have time, but he knows it'll just be another thing he'll have to forget if things go south. Instead, he pulls his hand away and says, not unkindly, "You're a fucking idiot."

"You understand, though, right?" Felix tilts his head, letting his expression give away his remorse. "You know why I have to do this."

Tucker gives a petulant nod. "So you can die, and we can all go home."

"You have things waiting for you, all of you. _You've_ got Junior. _I've_ got"—Felix waves his hand vaguely—"illicit work, and that's all."

Tucker's chest fills with air and he sits upright with anger, glaring down at Felix. "You're not _really_ that stupid," he says, and what he meant to be exasperation comes out sounding broken instead. He wants to say more, to tell Felix that he fucking _has_ Tucker, he's an idiot for thinking otherwise, and as long as he _wants_ Tucker, he'll _have_ him — but then his throat tightens and his lungs feel like they're splintered and popping, and _fuck_ , everything suddenly becomes real.

Felix catches him, holds him, and manages to shift from his knees to the mattress, sheltering Tucker's face in his neck. He's saying things that Tucker can't hear, can't focus on, because there's only his blood rushing through his ears and the sound of his own panicked gasps ripping through his chest.

"Don't," is the only word he can manage between shattered breaths. Don't go, he means. Don't leave. Don't die. " _Don't_."

Felix's hand on the back of his neck becomes a lulling rhythm in a pounding world of chaos, and that's what Tucker focuses on, his own fingers digging into Felix's skin to root himself. The cold thrill of panic eases, little by little, and he's only shivering by the time that a voice outside the tent — Kimball's — asks if Felix is ready to start preparations.

"One minute," Felix calls to her, and starts to untangle himself from Tucker. Tucker clings, shaking his head. "Tucker, I have to go," Felix tells him, and gets to his feet.

Tucker stands as well, looking up at him. "You better fucking come back," he says. Felix only smiles in reply; he can't promise anything, Tucker gets that. So Tucker kisses him instead, long and desperate, and pretends that it's not the last time.

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

>  **n/b:** for the curious, felix's mentioned korean tattoo is _손바닥으로 하늘을 가리려한다_


End file.
